


Deafening

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [75]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 15:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19065637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Echo leaves for three days with Raven and Emori for three days and - to borrow one of Murphy's colorful expressions - all hell breaks loose.Their weird Sanctum horsts turn out to be a perverted version of the Commander: murdering spirits hopping from body to body, erasing everything that made their nightblood human to perpetuate their sinister life.





	Deafening

**Author's Note:**

> Thsi was born thanks to flowermasters and in spite of Erin who will probably end up kicking me out....  
> I REGRET NOTHING

Some things should be deafening but aren’t, like the way your heart swells when you see your partner after a long absence. The way your skin sings when a friend sneaks their arm over your shoulders. Her love for Bellamy Blake.

He stands in the middle of their borrowed room and, as soon as her eyes land on his strong shoulders and dark curls, her heart does a small summersault, all her worries momentarily forgotten.

Her body moves without her commanding it: rushing forward to find comfort in his embrace. For one blissful moment, there's only his scent, his arms and his warm breath on the side of her neck.

Echo closes her eyes.

“How was your trip with the girls?” His voice breaks her out of her reprieve, dragging everything back to the forefront: Murphy’s panicked eyes, his cocksure smile and his whispered explanations. His white-knuckled grasp on Emori’s hand.

Their weird Sanctum horsts have turned out to be a perverted version of the Commander: murdering spirits hopping from body to body, erasing everything that made their nightblood human to perpetuate their sinister life.  

_They killed Clarke, sticking someone else inside her._

“Fine, Raven and Emori had a great time," Echo pulls away from his embrace to look him in the eye, searching their brown depths.

They look the same.

“And you?”

She twists her lips. “Ah, you know how much I love all that science and tech stuff.”

He laughs, his hands wandering down the small of her back to squeeze her behind.

There is something wrong in the curve of his lips, the cadence of his voice.

But his eyes look the same.

Murphy’s words bounce around in her head: _They are facing extinction and need new hosts. I accidentally revealed that we know how to make nightbloods in a lab._

“Well,” drawls Bellamy squeezing her against his chest, an unsettling little smirk on his face, “you know what’s best to get your mind out of all that techy crap.”

Echo tastes bile in the back of her throat, but forces her smile to stay on her lips, her hands to roll over his broad shoulders, down his familiar biceps.

He looks the same.

Her left thumb brushes against a tiny flesh-colored dot on the inside of his elbow. _Band-aid._

“What happened?”

"Ah, nothing. Nipped me with a nail." He leans forward to kiss her. His lips move wrong, sloppily.

The spy steps out of his embrace wanders around the room and busies her hands with her borrowed nightclothes from her backpack.

“Don’t be a tease,” complains the man.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him coming towards her. It should look like a playful prowl. Something he does sometimes when he's feeling cocky, and especially horny. Now, though, it seems threatening.

“Jordan told me about the crypt,” she says, dropping her voice as if afraid of eavesdroppers.

She can hear Murphy’s voice as if he were whispering in her ear.

“It’s-“ a muscle ticks in Bellamy’s jaw. But he doesn’t rub the back of his head in that boyish manner she loves. “It’s a difficult thing to wrap your head around.”

“Murder is not that difficult to understand.”

Something flashes in the dark depths of his slanted eyes. “It’s not like we have any right to judge them, can we?”

Echo feels a chasm opening at her feet. Only a lifetime of training, of infiltrating courts and villages and playing her marks prevents her breath from catching.

“Aren’t you scared that they may find out about your sister?” She forces her eyes to flit around, as if afraid someone may enter the room. She can't bring herself to walk closer to him.

His dark eyes light up, even though he tries to keep his face neutral. "Of course, I am. But it's their way of life, and we are guests here. And it's not like they're forcing anyone to give up their life." _Bellamy and Abby have been missing for two days._ “Come on, darling. We have it good here.”

Bellamy has never in his life called her darling.

The spy smiles. “Of course.”

She nods, turns around and starts changing into her nightclothes, her mind spinning, her breath caught in her lungs.

 _They are facing extinction._ And just in the nick of time, a new batch of bodies arrive into their midst, with the knowledge to perpetuate their lives. She needs time to calculate every consequence, to find the best way to get her family out of here, to keep Spacekru and Heda and her _seda_ safe.

Echo doesn’t shudder when his hands sneak under her shirt. Their familiar roughness a mockery of so many nights of comfort and love.

She closes her eyes, swallowing back pain, and confusion. Clawing at the fading threads of hope.

He manhandles her roughly, turning her around, his mouth demanding and his hands unkind. Never, not even when their coupling was angry and full of heated sex, had Bellamy grabbed her like this.

She squirms away. “Hey, come on beautiful. We’ll figure this out in the morning. Now, come to bed. I’ve missed you.”

 _Her_ partner would put his head to hers, going slightly cross-eyed, smile softly, brush his fingers through her thick locks. Her partner’s voice would drop to a husky whisper. _Babe_. Her Bellamy calls her 'babe' when he's being serious. 'Sweetheart' when he's feeling corny.

She feels sick. She can’t.

Echo drapes years of training, of lying and getting what she needs out of her marks over her shoulders, plays with the material of his shirt and pouts. “I am tired.”

 _Her_ Bellamy would offer a massage, anything to keep touching her, even if he didn’t get any release out of it.

This mockery of her lover looks disappointed but pulls away. "Ok," he grumbles, "Let's go to bed. We can continue this in the morning."

He takes the left side of the bed, stares at her like it’s a challenge until she slips under the covers. His arm is heavy and constricting around her waist.

Echo can’t breathe.

 _Her_ Bellamy is never the big spoon. He sleeps curled into a tight ball, taking up as little space as his big frame possibly can and relaxes only when she fits herself around him when she nuzzles the back of his neck and holds him tightly against her chest.

It takes him at least an hour of this to fall asleep. She has never minded staying there for as long as he needs.

Behind her, Bellamy snores, and Echo feels a sob crawl up her throat. The spy holds it back.

In her head Murphy’s words bounce around like mad dogs chasing their tails: _They killed Clarke, sticking someone else inside her. They are facing extinction and need new hosts. I accidentally revealed that we know how to make nightbloods in a lab. Don’t look at me like that, it’s not like I knew she wasn’t Clarke._

Her heart twists in denial, because if Murphy’s fear is right-

_Bellamy and Abby have been missing for two days._

If Murphy’s terrified eyes and urgent whisper is true-

_Please, Echo, he can’t be-_

Her hand wanders up to his forearm, her touch featherlight, careful not to wake him.

She peels it off, revealing a small scab.

She knows these types of wound: a small, apparently insignificant puncture. These are the same wounds that would appear on her arms after the Mountain Men made her sleep. After they strung her by her ankles and put their little winding tubes into her skin.

_Bellamy and Abby have been missing for two days._

Blinking back the memories of those icy gray walls, of the rusty cages and crying Kru, she scratches the minute scab off, rubbing her fingers lightly over the sides of the wound to encourage blood flow.

Some things should be deafening but aren't, like the memories of the Mountain or her love and loyalty for Spacekru.

Black wells up.

Echo stares at that dark drop.

She can't breathe. Her mind is blank. Somewhere, some dying creature sobs. It is a weird, nearly silent sound, and it takes her a long moment to understand it's her.

She bites her knuckles to stifle the horrible sound. Tries to think, but someone has released a swarm of bugs inside her skull, and the only thing she can hear is their buzzing, the only thing she feels is the burning pain of a thousand arrows piercing her chest.

The black blood shines like obsidian. A perversion of what was once holy and beautiful and _good._

She pulls her legs against her chest, trying to keep her body from shattering like a cracked mirror.

This cannot be happening. Bellamy can’t have the blood, his body cannot be possessed by some selfish spirit perverting all the teachings of Bekka Pramheda.

_From now on, we look forward. Not back._

Bellamy’s words were a promise. They should have had time to see them realized.

She takes his hand in hers. It’s still warm and calloused and broad. It’s the same hand that had held her when she told him about her past, that caressed her and lazily braided her hair.

She kisses his knuckles.

It’s the hand he offered when she was ready to follow Roan into the afterlife, the hand that held her hair back while she was sick from the algae and that brushed the sweat from her face and that traced lazy patterns over her skin and rubbed her belly wishfully.

_“Ai hod yu in, Bellamy Blake. Ostof nau, niron. Yu gonpley ste odon.””_

Some things should be deafening but aren't, like the sound of her heart shattering or Bellamy's last breath.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Trig:   
> Ai hod yu in, Bellamy Blake. = I love you, Bellamy  
> Ostof nau, niron. = rest now, love  
> Yu gonpley ste odon = your fight is over
> 
> This thing wasn't beta'd  
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


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